


Shooting the Breeze

by ooihcnoiwlerh



Category: Inception (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooihcnoiwlerh/pseuds/ooihcnoiwlerh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cobb learns a little something about Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting the Breeze

_“My project’s ending next weekend.  I thought I’d be able to see Anna Leigh.”_

This is what Cobb hears as he slides the PASIV out and his sleeve up.  He freezes.  Here he thought he was alone, thought Eames had left for the night, but he hears his voice trailing from some dark corner at the other side of room.  Sound travels here.  He figures he might get away with going under.  The rest of the team has learned not to ask when he goes under on his own, but he catches the next couple of sentences and they strike a chord with him that he can’t ignore.

“Well, it’s been six months.  I figured it might be nice to be able to see my daughter for a change,” Eames snaps.  “I have visitation rights, Alice.  I should be allowed to use them.”  

At no point in the years Cobb has known the man has Eames ever even hinted at having a daughter, to being a father.  He’d never come across as the kind of man who could deal with that kind of responsibility.  He couldn’t for the life of him picture Eames changing a diaper or teaching someone to read.  From the sounds of it, he was never around to do those things.  A small, judgmental part of him that he hates thinks, _yeah, he could definitely be someone’s uninvolved, negligent, never-there absentee father._ But he knows that’s not really true.  He recognizes the desperation in Eames’s voice as the phone call continues.  He’s a father who dearly misses his child.

“That’s not my fault.  The traveling and time away is not my fault.  You know it’s part of the job.  She needs to know that even if I don’t get to see her as often as I want to, I’m still her father and I still love her.  Can you find it in your heart to see that?”  A beat.  “ _Yes,_ I’m still her father.  A step father is an addition.  He’s not a replacement.”

The following silence lasts a lifetime.  Cobb kind of wishes that he could see Eames’s face, but then again, he really doesn’t.  He doesn’t really like that he’s hearing something this personal.  Especially when Eames finally starts speaking again.  

“Is that right?” his voice sounds constricted.  “Well.  You always hit hard and hit low.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”  There’s real anger.  There’s pain.  There’s a man Cobb doesn’t recognize.  Eames has never gotten mad without first getting even.  He takes everything with a grain of salt; he lets things slide, water off a duck’s back and other such overused phrases.  He’s always ready with a comeback line and a sense of humor that can make light of everything.  At least that’s what Cobb has seen before.  Or wanted to see.  

But he knows what it’s like to kept away from his children.  He knows how it feels, being a father who’s blocked from fulfilling his role as one.  He knows the love is permanent and unconditional, and spans any and every distance.  So he knows the kind of pain Eames must be feeling, and he can’t go under right now when he hears this.  The voice is louder, clearer than before, but still needing.

“That, then, is all the more reason to be allowed to visit.  Because I’m not going to disappear like you want me to _.  I want to see my daughter_.  _Our_ daughter.  You got to keep her with you.  I get a few times a year.  Let me see her.  Please, Alice.”  Silence.  “Thank you.”

Cobb tries his best to make it look as though he hasn’t heard anything when, a couple of minutes later, Eames crosses through, but for once his acting is sub-par.  He avoids the other man’s gaze until he hears the sigh.

“So I guess you heard that,” Eames says.  It’s not a question.  His face is a blank slate, bereft of anger, embarrassment or amusement.  Just empty.

Cobb glances down at the PASIV and back at him.  “I know that it hurts to…”

Eames snorts back a laugh and looks away with a smile that possesses a mean kind of humor.  “If you’re looking to have a kind of ‘two dads shooting the breeze’ kind of a moment, look for someone else to do it with, Cobb.”  He makes for the door and stops.  “I never want you to bring this up ever again, to me or anyone else.”

“I promise,” Cobb calls after him.  The door opens and he can’t help but ask, “So her name is Anna Leigh?”

Eames turns and nods.  “Her name is Anna Leigh, she’s eight years old and she looks just like her mother except in the eyes.” He gives a pointed look at the PASIV.  “I couldn’t do that, live in fantasy.”

Cobb shrugs.  “Who am I hurting?” he asks.  He knows the answer, of course, is ‘You’re hurting yourself,’ but he really doesn’t count himself in such equations anymore.

“You keep staying where you want in your dreams, you’ll never move on to deal with reality.”  And then he’s gone, the slam of the door echoing through the vast room that is now most certainly empty save for Cobb.  He looks over at the PASIV. 

If this job is successful, they both will be able to see their children.  

Until then…

Cobb rolls his sleeve back up.  What he finds when he’s unconscious isn’t a fantasy to him; it makes far more sense to him than what he encounters when he’s awake.


End file.
